


Schrodingers Cat

by robogoo



Series: Micheal Afton: Corpse Boy [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Five Nights at Freddy's 1, Five Nights at Freddy's 2, Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location, Graphic Description, Graphic injuries, Horror, Post Sister Location, Supernatural Elements, hes also eggs benedict, ill think of more tags later lol, lots of gore seriously, micheal afton has daddy issues, micheal is both mike and jeremy, mikey has ptsd, poor skeleton man, someone give him a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robogoo/pseuds/robogoo
Summary: Being used as some flesh suit by a mysterious animatronic with ill intensions for weeks on end then suddenly forced back into said flesh suit leaves poor Micheal Afton to deal with the aftermath of its actions.He just won’t die will he?





	1. You Won't Die

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d with lots of blood n gross shit. :-)

_You won’t die._

He held onto those three simple words, a life raft in a stormy sea, as a bright blinding light forced him into a sudden and painful consciousness.

_You won’t die._

Every feeling hit him at once. The smell of freshly mowed lawns from the surrounding houses, distant sounds of blaring traffic, and the overwhelming scent of decay and blood.

His eyes shot open, head throbbing as a sudden flood of scattered…Memories? Halucinations? None of which he could grasp long enough to bring to the front of his scattered mind. Yet, those three same words repeated like the broken voice box of an animatronic.

_You won’t die._

A breathless choking sound escaped his lips, wait, had he not been breathing this entire time? A shaking, discolored hand slowly made its way towards his throat. Too boney fingers weakly gripping his throat, when was the last time he felt this? _Anything?_

His breath hitched abruptly, the high of adrenaline quickly setting in as his limbs went numb. Hand balling into a fist he hysterically slammed it onto his chest in desperation to find his breath. Dark spots framed his sight as his shoulders tightened in an attempt to grasp even one small breath. It felt like an eternity before he was then granted with relief. Gagging as he keeled over, a sickly brown liquid dripping down his chin and landing with a messy 'spalt' onto the sidewalk. Gagging over and over, a horrible retching sound escaping him each time and causing his body to violently convulse. He felt like he was dying. Again.

With a final violent gag he could feel the cold air rush into his lungs, and a harsh wheezing noise as the cold air left. In, and out, in, and out. His arms shook turbulently beneath him as he could finally focus on his thoughts.

 

He; Micheal ~~Afton~~ , was alive. How was he alive? Who- _what_ kept him alive? Why didn't he die? _Why didn't he die?_

 

Slowly feeling came back to his arms, and from there his chest, which stung with every empty breath. His stomach, or rather whatever was left of it, throbbed with a dull pain. His legs felt even weaker than his arms, he couldn't quite tell if he would even be able to stand. But quickly realized he would have to.

Eyes peered from shut curtains, heads hidden behind corners still stared in horror, and children were ushered inside houses. Every eye on the large block of houses watching him intensely, unsure breaths held, not knowing whether to call an ambulance or a hearse.

Fear and anxiety flooded every part of his body, his brain screamed  **RUN, HIDE, LEAVE**. A nauseating wave of adrenaline washed over him, all throbbing pains and weak limbs forgotten as he shot upwards from his slouched position on the sidewalk.

Another wave of sickness crashed against his body as his legs began to shake under his sparse weight. But he wouldn't let that stop him as he slowly broke into a running walk. His legs hurt with searing pain, chest heaving forward with each struggling breath.

He gripped both arms and brought them up to his chest, the dull throbbing turning to a sharp, stabbing pain. He could spot his house from the corner of his eye, veering to the left his legs began to turn to jelly beneath him. Just as he stepped up to his door he leaned against it, his forearm hitting the door expecting a hard surface to support him.

The door fell open and his mind went blank.

 

Then darkness.

 

**_You won’t die._ **


	2. Died Twice and Never Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micheal sees a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look @ that I finally updated!!!!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for the kudos!!  
> Remember to comment also! Criticism is always appreciated!!  
> Warning for this chapter!!!: lots of nasty descriptions of scars n blood n shit!!!! For any updates on chapters remember to check out my insta @ robogo0
> 
> -EDIT- Some alight grammer/wording re-writing :-)

_They were all there, but, they thought I was you._

Michael's eyes snapped open with a jolt, an aching pain washing over his body. As his eyes adjusted to the light he recognized the kernels of popcorn littering the unkempt shag carpeting. The hum of static white noise not too far from where he laid.

He was home.

Weak hands gripped the frayed bits of carpet, a heavy wavering sigh left his dry lips.

Slowly bringing his arms to his sides and pushing up, he managed to bring himself into a kneeling position. It had just occurred to him that he had been passed out on the floor, inside of his house.

The door.

His head spun quicker around than he could think, leaving him mentally slapping himself, and very dizzy.

His door was wide open, his collapsed body in full view to the outside, the warm spring breeze causing it to rhythmically bump against the side of the wall.

He straightened his back, letting out a breathless groan as the cracking echoed throughout the room. Leaning back he stretched out a hand and carefully pushed the door back. It closed with a quiet click, leaving the room in near total darkness. Micheal wheezed a heavy sigh of relief.

But he still had the problem at hand to deal with.

 

 

Ok, scratch that, multiple really, really fucked up problems.

 

 

Mumbling to himself he slowly straightened his back and stood up. Quickly grabbing onto his nearby couch for support. Micheal swayed on unsteady feet, but he was finally standing without fear of throwing up whatever organs were left.

" _Small_ _victories_ ", he assured himself. Eyes finally adjusted to the dark room, Micheal was relived to find nothing destroyed or out of the ordinary.  
At least what would be "out of the ordinary" for him. As the wall across from his small dining table hung a large corkscrew board. photos, newspaper cutouts, and miscellaneous pieces of paper covered the board, red string tied to tacks above them connecting the papers in various ways.

Step by step, one foot in front of the other, Mike made his way towards his bathroom. One hand grabbing onto anything that could support him while the other clutched his stomach in an attempt to help the dull throbbing.

His body gave no pulsing warmth under his hand, as a cold mass of skin met cold thin hands. Well, his hands had always been this cold.

He picked at the tattered shirt with the hand, which hung loosely on his skinnier frame. The clothing holding on by only a single button just below his chest.

As he faced his bathroom door he rested a hand on it, the door creaking open with little resistance. He stumbled forward into the dimly lit room, quickly latching onto the sink to his left.

Micheal took in a deep breath, chest barely moving at the action.

And he looked up into the mirror.

 

 

_That was not his face._

 

**_Those were not his eyes._ **

 

Micheals eyes were _brown_ , one of the only things that he felt had set him apart from his family.

These weren’t even eyes. These were dark voids, emotionless and empty

With only small white irises that danced back and forth in the mirror, almost glowing eerily the longer he stared. 

His shaking hand slowly ran down the side of his face. which was now a rough landscape of nearly-decaying flesh.  
Crossroads of blue veins bulged against the tight skin, now tinged a lilac purple. His cheeks were sunken in, sharp cheekbones now more prominent on his thin face. His lips were dry and cracked, he ran a tongue over his teeth, which were yellow and chipped.

He was certain he was missing a couple molars.

Micheal's hand drew down to his neck, the same roughness of skin as his face. But as his fingers traced his collarbone, they abruptly stopped.

Just below his collarbone was a small stitch. It was crudely woven into his skin, as he traced a finger over it he could feel the pull of scar tissue against his skin.

He put his hand on the button of his shirt, and slowly removed it.

The tattered clothing fell to the floor, and Micheal froze, eyes widened in horror. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing he couldn’t _he_ _fucking_ _couldn’t._  

 

_He really didn’t want to._

 

A large, jagged scar ran from below his collarbone. Down the center of his ribs, where it moved and stretched with the shallow rise and fall.The scar tissue tight against his thin ribs, each of his attempts at a normal breath leaving his skin pulling against itself. It wove underneath the bottom of his ribcage and went to the right of his stomach, just past his belly button. Finally ending just above his hips.

He turned his arm over, to find the same tight skin, a jagged scar ran from under his armpit. Curving down beneath his forearm and ending at the wrist. It curved around the wrist, where multiple smaller stitches wove through the skin.

It was the same on the other arm. Jagged scars, caked in dried blood and covered in garishly done stitches.

His hand tightened to a fist, the tendons on his wrist barely moving as his fingers twitched, almost in fear.

 

He stared at the horror show that was his own body

 

His chest felt tight, but on the inside. Whatever organ was in the relative area of his stomach twisted and writhed beneath the skin.

His throat tightened, mouth going even drier.

He wasn't even sure if he could _cry_ anymore.  
The feeling of emptiness he had felt physically had now washed over his entire being.  
His face burned as a choked, dry sob left his lips. His chest heaved, and his knuckles went white as his grip tightening on the edge of the sink.

 

He was so. So.

 

_Empty._


	3. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micheal puts himself together again
> 
> -WARNING- GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BODY HORROR / BLOOD / GROSS SHIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it’s been like 4 months oops,,,,,, but hey here’s the third chapter!!!!! :-) so far the longest chapter ughhdksjdh,,
> 
> I’ll also be posting a sort of reference for my interpretation of Mikey for this story!!
> 
> Critiques + comments are appreciated ;-)

_But_ _I_ _can_ _put_ _you_ _back_ _together_ _again_

 

After staring for what felt like hours into unfamiliar eyes, Micheal sat on the edge of his shower. Cradling his sunken face in thin hands, placing his arms against his legs to be as comfortable as possible.' _Easier_ _said_ _than_ _done_ ', he thought. 

 

Suddenly, Micheal's chest heaved as a strong metallic taste surged from his chest into his throat, his face becoming hot and his throat tightened once again.

He threw himself forward towards his sink and swung his head directly over it, retching and gagging, the burning scent of blood suffocating his nostrils as blood filled his mouth.

 

 

He wasn't sure whether to be glad or not that he could smell and taste shit.

 

 

Micheal gripped the sink for dear life as blood began to fill his throat. He breathlessly heaved, the metallic liquid began to slowly drip down his chin the more he forced it.

 

When it finally burst from his throat, his eye sockets burned as the thick brown liquid ran like a waterfall down into the sink, chunks of god knows what cascading down.

 

Giving a final gag followed by an airless cough, he slowly brought his head up from the awkward position. The corpse-man’s body shook, the scars crisscrossed across his body pulsed and stretched with his every movement.

He put a hand up to his face, feeling for any other deep wounds. He felt two large slashes down his mouth, with small scars crisscrossing his cheeks and the thin skin around his eye sockets.

 

With his shaking somewhat under control, and he was breathing normally- well, the shallow breath that surged from his chest every couple minutes or so- and lifted his head from the sink.

 

Micheal slowly turned to the small shower, pulling back the plastic curtain. The clinking of the plastic rings echoing as he reached for the shower nob.

 

After twisting it to the worn sticker labeled 'hot' he carefully began to remove his blood soaked clothing. Peeling the tattered, blood soaked shirt from the floor he gave a grimace before tossing it in a corner. As it landed with a wet 'splat' he went to unbutton his pants. He carefully slipped them off, barely keeping his balance as-

 

 _Ah_.

 

The half dead man had just noticed was missing two toes on his left foot.

 

He continued to remove his pants, ignoring the dark red stumps that were left of his toes.

 

 

Stepping into the shower he quickly latched onto the edge of the wall, hand clumsily feeling for the small bottles of shampoo.

Water cascaded down his frail frame, starting out clear before falling to the bottom a dirty brownish-pink.

 

The once dry blood caking his scars slowly washed away as he stared at the floor. And there he stood, lost in deep thought.

 

First of all; he was alive. How? He didn't have the mental nor physical strength to answer such a question at the moment.

 

Secondly.

 

 _Why_?

 

Another nauseous wave washed over him. But this was a different feeling.

 

 **Guilt**.

 

He had done so many horrible, fucked up things throughout his entire life. Forced to cause mental, physical, or verbal abuse to whoever his father decided to throw at him.

 

And now he was really paying for it wasn't he? All he had fucking done his entire goddamn life was shit for his dad so much fucked up shit and where had that ever gotten him.

A breathless sob left his mouth, every drop of water echoing in his ears.

 

 ** _He_** **_was_** **_just_ _as_** **_bad_ _as_** **_his_** **_father_**.

 

He thought he was doing something right for once.

 

 

 

.....

 

 

 

The water was practically boiling by now, steam rose from his body as the bathroom became warmer.

 

He could barely feel he warmth against his back.

 

Leaning back into the water he slowly wiped his hands up his face and into his hair.

 

Oh right, he was missing quite a large chunk of hair on the left side of his scalp.

He decided to ignore every fucked up part of his body for now, in favor of more self loathing and questions he kept to himself that would never be answered.

 

And he stood there.

 

And he thought.

 

He thought about the dark hallways. The cramped rooms, the dusty vents.

 

The words. The instructions.

 

' _All_ _of_ _them_.

 

 _They_ _were_ _all_ _there_.

  _They_ _didn't_ _recognize_ _me_ _at_ _first_. 

 

 

 

 _But_.

 

 

 

 _They_ _thought_ _that_ _I_ _was_ **_you_**.'

 

 

His train of thought was swiftly interrupted, as water filled his- very weird -empty sockets, and open mouth. He sputtered and gagged, water spouting back up through his nose and mouth, letting out struggled water logged coughs. The drowned rat of a man placing a shaking hand against the wall of the shower to anchor himself.

 

During his moment of heavy disassociation he had been slowly leaning back into the water.

 

Micheal let out a weak, hoarse chuckle in an attempt to find the humor in the situation.

 

Opening the curtain he fumbled for his towel, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out from the shower into the steam filled room.

 

Water pooled around his feet as he grabbed a smaller towel messily thrown over the side of his sink. As he rubbed the towel over his hair small clumps drifted down onto the wet tiled floor. Micheal let out a heavy sigh and dropped the towel onto the ground.

 

Once more opening the bathroom door he entered the musty living room and made his way to his room.

 

Micheal froze inches away from the door handle, as his door was covered in jagged, thick scratches. Each scratch seemed almost lazy, as if whatever had been committing such destructive acts was doing it out of seemingly boredom. He grimaced and proceeded to turn the door handle.

 

What greeted him was a messy room. Not like the comforting messiness that was the rest of his house, but more akin to a tornado that had been filled with rocks and sharp objects had made its way through every part of his room.

 

Clothes were strewn about everywhere except for his closet. Some slightly shredded, others obviously unworn, just thrown about for the sake of chaos. 

His bed was the only thing untouched, pillows barely laid upon.

 

By whatever was using his own skin.

 

The bare walls were covered with scratches similar to the ones covering his door, light blue paint chipped and the inner wall exposed.

Micheal’s face contorted with anger, this mooching, skin wearing, metal prick decided that ruining his goddamn life wasn’t enough. Noooo it just HAD to ruin his walls and nearly destroy his fucking door. Just _great_. Real fuckin great.

 

This, however; was the least of the purple zombies problems in his life currently.

 

Plucking an only slightly stained black t-shirt and a pair of worn denim jeans from the floor he managed to put together an outfit.

 

Until he realized the shirt sagged against his frame, and the pants hung over his feet. Micheal grumbled as he hiked up his jeans and tied the back of the shirt in a knot. Shuffling out from the garbage dump of a room Micheal ran a hand over his face, the exhaustion of the day settling into his bones. With a wheezing sigh, Micheal entered the small kitchen pulling open the fridge.

Running a dry tongue over chapped lips Micheal eyed the contents of the fridge, his eyes settling on the carton of orange juice lying on the bottom shelf. He pulled it out and grabbed a glass from the cabinet above his sink, pouring the sweet fruity nectar into the chipped cup. Micheal could feel his eyes water at the thought of tasting something other than blood.

 

Lifting the cold glass into his hand and taking a long sip, a feeling of near-bliss flooding through his body as the liquid bathed his tongue in sweet, sweet orange flavoring.

 

Before he promptly felt the cold juice tricking through everywhere else except his stomach and slammed the glass down throwing his head over the sink, gagging heavily.

 

As quickly as it went down the sweet orange juice came right back up, his throat once more burning as he heaved and it came pouring out.

 

...

 

When he was finished emptying his, “stomach” of its contents, he mentally began a list, still clutching the sink and shivering violently.

 

  1. _Take a nap_
  2. _Figure out if I’m ever gonna be able to eat or drink again._
  3. _Uhhhhhhh......_
  4. _Shit._




	4. Not All There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micheal's missing more than his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big warning!!: thoughts of suicide, self harm, and verrryyyy gorey gross ass shit in this chapter!

Micheal turned on the tap, watching the dark orange liquid swirl down the drain, chunks of unidentifiable-uh-chunks, sticking to the once pristine inner walls of the sink.

He let out a heavy, discordant groan, knuckles going white as he held onto the kitchen counter for dear life. With a boney hand he rubbed his temples, tight skin pulling back and forth as he massaged with his trembling fingers. 

Steadily raising his body back up from the depths of the sink Micheal winced in pain as his joints audibly popped back into place, hopefully. Micheal shuddered at the feeling of his bones cracking against his stiff skin, a word he never would’ve thought to use to describe the disturbing sensation of his skin rubbing against pretty much anything.

 

Speaking of which, his hands were still gripped tight onto the rusty steel of the sink edge, knuckles white and fingers turning a deep blueish-green, Micheal jolted back hastily his arms jerking to his sides clumsily. Arms and legs still stiff from-slight-decomposition, Micheal staggered backwards through the small kitchen archway.

His skinny legs becoming tangled in his only dining chair as he slammed back onto the edge of the round table.The clumsy corpse then slid down the side of the table leg, the entirety of his lower body aching heavily, bruises promptly forming. He sat for a moment, before realizing once more he wasn’t breathing, and took in a harsh, wheezing breath.

 

And let out a hoarse, sonorous laugh. Breathing becoming labored, he continued to laugh, his throat convulsing with every harsh breath he took in and let out a discordant roar of laughter. Micheal drew his shaking legs into his chest wrapping his bruised arms around them, laughter boarding on hysterics. A high pitched wheezing breath in punctuating every deep guffaw out. Micheal’s throat tightened his bottom lip trembling as he gripped his legs his knuckles once more turning white. Hot tears burst from his eyes, spilling down his gruesome disfigured face, tears flowing from his empty soulless eyes following the horrible indents of bone of his face down to his chin.

 

_‘This is all a joke, my whole life even._

 

_I shouldn’t have listened to him, any of them._

 

_Why did I exist then?_

 

**_Why do I still fucking exist?’_ **

 

A final breath out turned into a heavy, rasping sob, the tears leaking down his chin and falling onto his loosely fitting clothing.

 

Micheal’s vision became clouded by the waterfall of tears as he stared down at his arms. Body wracked with the onslaught of tears

 

His **horrible disgusting ugly arms**. veins popping out his skin every bone amplified by the tight, **decaying** skin. Nails black from **rot** still gripping his legs tight, the **long ghastly scars** under his arms straining and pulling at his already tight skin.

 

Micheal drew his fingers to his arms seizing them with a sudden surge of fury, his face barely turning a slightly darker purple as what was left of his blood rushed to his face, his teeth grinding with unbridled wrath air being sucked in through clenched teeth. Micheal’s hands trembled and quaked with **anger, hate, disgust** as he viscously dug his rotting nails into the deep **unsightly scars**.

The hastily done stitches popped as his nails drew deeper into his wounds. He could feel the tendons just below the surface twitch and jerk under the sudden sharp stab of his nails, tears still cascading down his cheeks.

 

**He dug his nails in he dug them further until he could feel the cold feculent blood lap at his finger tips and spill over the sides of his arms. Micheal dug further and further still feeling no pain no pain what so ever just the disgusting revolting sensation of skin touching tendon, blood, and bone.**

 

Staring down at the gruesome sight, his stomach churned at the rotten smell of decay filling the air. Thick ichor dripping down to the floor in a soft rhythm.

 

_pit._

 

_pat._

 

_pit_

 

_pat._

 

Micheal’s breathing turned heavy and rasping once more, his arms convulsing, shaking his chest along with it.

 

_‘God why was he so fucking stupid, this won’t get me fucking anywhere what the fuck is wrong with me, Micheal frustratedly contemplated to himself._

 

~~_‘Why didn’t I die the first time.’_ ~~

 

A sudden shiver down his arms broke him from his disturbing line of thinking as he locked his gaze back down to his arms, the bleeding already finished and now drying on his hands. Michael winced as he removed his fingers slowly from the creases of the wound, a godawful squelching echoing through the room as his fingers brushed by various parts of his flesh.

Finally his fingers were removed with a small, wet ‘pop’. Yet, his arms still felt as if he were still digging into whatever was left of his tendons and nerves. He scratched around the scar on the right uncomfortably, sighing hoarsely as he picked out a small white chunk of god knows what that he pulled out under his nail.

 

That is, until the chunk squirmed.

 

Micheal let out an earsplitting hoarse shriek and flung the thing onto the floor, were it landed in a splatter of his own blood.

 

Something more seemed to move and worm under his skin, Micheal’s eyes widened in terror his face twisting as he peeled back a small crease of the scar to reveal.

 

**A small swarm of tiny white maggots working their way down his arms around his bones and out his flesh.**

 

He froze.

 

 

 

 

He then leapt up in pure fear tearing the wound further open and jabbed his fingers deep inside shoving his hand further in grabbing a handful of his own maggot ridden flesh tears off the maggots within, hurling them against the wall to his left.

 

His flesh burned and itched as the maggots squirmed further down his nails digging deep into the muddied rotten flesh and bone.

 

Micheal did this to both arms for next hour or so. Still hoarsely screaming.

It left a large, dark red stain on his dining room wall.


End file.
